


For Educational Purposes

by badass_normal



Category: Prison Break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badass_normal/pseuds/badass_normal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's young and he's hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Educational Purposes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffee_mill](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=coffee_mill).



Gretchen’s never really had much respect for authority, but when it comes down to it, she’s twenty-one-years-old and standing in the vice president’s office, and even she has to understand that there’s at least a bit of sanctity to the location.

Neither of the older women approve of her, that much is obvious. Brinker definitely thinks the only reason she’s here is because she’s sleeping with the General, and Reynolds doesn’t want another Company employee in the White House to keep an eye on her, not even one masquerading as a college student with an internship.

At some point during her introduction, though, a man Gretchen vaguely recognizes sticks his head in and asks to speak with “Madame Vice President.” Reynolds, instead of kicking her out, chooses to speak with him outside of the office, something Gretchen finds odd. Brinker follows Reynolds, and Gretchen wonders just how important it is to keep the White House staff under such constant surveillance.

She’s left alone in the room with the Secret Service Agent, who remained totally silent before, his eyes locked on Reynolds the whole time.

Gretchen is in a bad mood. When she’s in a bad mood, she tends to get herself in trouble. “You want her, huh?”

He flinches. “And _how_ old are you? Still at the age where it’s all about sex?”

“I’m just saying. Good luck tapping that.” She has no idea where this is coming from.

She can’t tell if she’s gotten to him. He probably has ten years of experience on her, after all, which means that his poker face has evolved beyond what it is within her skill to decipher. But what intuition she has tells her that he is at least far from amused by her remark. “I don’t think you’re at an age where you can understand our kind of relationship,” he finally says.

Her tongue sweeps across the back of her teeth unconsciously. Because for her age, she’s sure been through enough to understand a lot more than an arrogant White House lackey might think, and she’s been talked down to by enough people today.

“I have plenty of experience in many walks of life. _Sir_.”

It’s not often she’s made to feel small, especially in the killer heels she’s wearing, but as he virtually swaggers into her personal space, she’s struck by how huge he actually is, feels her eyes widening as she unconsciously steps backwards until the small of her back hits the corner of the desk.

“Oh, you’re cold all right,” he says, his voice lower, suddenly dripping with testosterone. And just the tone of his voice sends an unwelcome screaming current of heat straight to her loins. “Hate to break it to ya, babe, but you’ve got a long way to go before you’re ready to join the big girls.”

She tries to summon a response, but she’s so wet, so quickly, and all that makes it out of her mouth is a strangled gasp immediately before his hands dart to her hips. A moment later, she’s been thrown across the desk, onto stacks of papers and neatly arranged lines of pens.

“Wha—” she manages in the split second before he crawls on top of her, panther-like, and rolls his entire body over hers. Once she feels the hard evidence of his arousal digging into her pubic bone, her body completely betrays her and succumbs to him, back arching instinctively just to get closer to him. “Oh—God—”

He bends down and flicks her earlobe with his tongue before whispering huskily “I’m flattered. You, however, may call me Agent Kellerman.” His hot breath against her neck forces her hips upwards involuntarily, but only for a moment, as one large hand firmly grabs onto her waist and holds her down. Still fully clad, apparently in perfect control of his body, he grinds once more against her smoothly, his body glued to hers.

“Well, it appears I’ve gotten the General’s new lapdog all hot and bothered,” he observes passively, his other hand planted next to her head, lifting himself into a half-pushup. She feels almost smothered, trapped, locked in place by the rippling muscles she can now feel pinning her body to the desk, even though they were invisible beneath the suit jacket before.

Piercing her with his stare as he uses the one hand to hike her skirt up, he lowers his mouth to her jaw planting burning kisses on the way to her own. By the time his lips reach their destination, he’s got a hand in her underwear, and her mouth opens underneath his as he slides a pair of strong fingers inside of her.

The moment his thumb brushes across her clit, her lips break from his as she whimpers in shock, her legs spreading unconsciously. He smirks, light eyes flashing with a sexy mirth, and she would hate him for it if she could summon enough of a coherent thought to do so.

“Real life lesson number one,” he says, nipping at her throat as he twists his fingers expertly within her, eliciting another weak moan. “You might have a high threshold for pain, but you are just like any other woman when it comes to sex.” He withdraws his hand, which moves to undo his belt. She takes the opportunity to hook her knees around his waist, and he grunts in appreciation at the new angle. “Oh, you sure are a hot little bitch.” He yanks her underwear aside and tugs his own pants down, all performed with remarkable grace. “But the greater the pride, the harder the fall.”

Somehow, through the spotted haze of her frustrated arousal, she processes his words, before he ferociously drives his cock into her. At this point, the iron-stiff control he’s been holding over himself evaporates, and bracing himself on his forearms, he’s suddenly fucking her, really fucking her, each stroke unfurling a whiplash of heat from her cunt up through her abdomen. His deceptively innocent face is now darkened with a feral quality, an animal-like strength rendering her completely helpless. His blue eyes no longer twinkling, but hypnotic.

Her hands migrate to his hard biceps, fingers pressing solidly enough to bruise him, and he growls viciously, pushing into her with slow, powerful thrusts that serve to maximize the electric sensations erupting within her. She can feel her muscles tightening in an impending climax, and he knows it, because he speaks again, this time more brokenly, “you’re close—aren’t you?” and she swears that when he slams into her to emphasize his point he hits something, and fuck yes she’s close.

She cries out in response, her thighs trembling around him, and he covers her mouth with his wrist to smother the telltale sounds of sex before they can alert a large percentage of the staff as to what the Vice President’s desk is being subjected to. Then everything dissolves as her orgasm explodes through her, and her body shudders in its fierce, fiery climax.

By the time she’s descended, he’s reached his own completion with a grunt that somehow manages to be dignified. There are still aftershocks coursing through her, but she summons the control to not cling when he pulls away from her, his face flushed from exertion but otherwise looking perfectly collected. Unlike her.

Watching as he adjusts his pants, does up his belt, airs out his slightly damp white shirt, Gretchen rolls her shoulders a few times. She’s already sore from the uneven surface; she examines the mess they’ve made of the important documents and various office supplies on the desk. She supposes this is why the guys in movies sweep a desk clean before doing their secretaries. Or interns, she laments internally. Pretend interns, in this case.

“Don’t worry,” he says after a long moment. “Assuming you’re decent enough at your job, we’ll be moving in different circles.”

She finally feels strong enough to stand up, yanking her shirt down and wincing as her blouse sticks with sweat to the small of her back.

“And if not, you have the whole year to try to earn back some of your dignity,” he finishes, cracking his neck and tugging dismissively at the lapels on his jacket. Then, the smirk.

While righteous indignation would obviously be out of the question, Gretchen is still supremely pissed off. So as she plans something to say in response, desperate to get the last word in, she absently stacks the papers as they were, while subjecting him to the full force of her own glare.

For about a minute she cleans up, while he just watches her with that amused smirk, and then she hears people outside the office. Taking a deep breath, she walks forward towards the door and stops right next to him, putting her hands behind her back in attention.

And the moment Reynolds and Brinker open the door, her stiletto-ed foot flies up and connects forcefully with his crotch. It’s a cheap shot, to be sure, but she is the new girl, after all.

His knees buckle and he sinks to the floor, hands on his balls, eyes rolled up in agony. Reynolds and Brinker stop in shock, and to Gretchen’s delight, the latter is obviously trying not to laugh.

“Are you assaulting my bodyguard?” Reynolds demands angrily.

Gretchen summons her under-used innocent smile. “Madame Vice President, perhaps you need to chat with your Secret Service Agents about coming on to your interns.” She looks down at where Kellerman is crumpled on the floor, face scrunched up and gasping because of the pain. “It sure would be ironic if I had to file a sexual harassment complaint, wouldn’t it?”

“You—bitch,” Kellerman manages from the floor.

“It’s okay. Like you said, we won’t have to see much of each other.” She smiles a very different smile for him. A Cheshire Cat sort of smile. “I’ll be at my desk,” she says sweetly to the Vice President, before walking straight past her, out into the hallway.

Brinker follows closely behind her, and Gretchen wonders briefly if she’s about to get in trouble. However, when the door to Reynolds’ office is once again closed, where Kellerman is presumably still on the floor, the other woman sends her an approving smile. “So what did he do to offend you?”

Gretchen contemplates her answer for a moment. “He has the most infuriating smirk,” she finally settles on. “And he’s a misogynistic hog.”

A quiet smile from Brinker. “I’ve changed my mind,” she says. “It’s going to be a pleasure mentoring you.”


End file.
